


To Love You All Over Again

by Coffee_Reveries



Category: Normal People (TV 2020), Normal People - Sally Rooney
Genre: F/M, Fluff, My attempt to get the book and the series out of my brain!, Years Later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25813474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffee_Reveries/pseuds/Coffee_Reveries
Summary: Four years later Connell returns to Dublin and Marianne is there waiting for him.The title comes from the song by Madeleine Peyroux.
Relationships: Marianne Sheridan/Connell Waldron
Comments: 12
Kudos: 101





	1. Four Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think my writing is worthy of the series or Sally Rooney's brilliant work but it has been helpful in getting this hauntingly beautiful story (and couple) out of my system.

> “Our separation so abides, and flies,  
>  That thou, residing here, go'st yet with me,  
>  And I, hence fleeting, here remain with thee.”  
>  ― William Shakespeare, Antony and Cleopatra
> 
> * * *

**  
**

**_Four Years Later_  
**

**_(January 2019)_ **

  
  


Connell arrives back in Dublin on a cold and rainy January morning and when he does Marianne’s there at the airport with a set of car keys in her hand, wrapped in a mustard-yellow coat.

Looking well, Waldron. She says, with a smile about her, the corner of her eyes crinkling. She still wears that signature fringe that falls a bit over her eyes.

As they walk out towards his old silver Fiesta, he thinks she’s a vision of beauty and grace against the backdrop of grays and blacks of their foggy city.

He tells her that Lorraine is expecting his visit to Carricklea on the weekend and he’s got exactly five days to find a room or flat to stay before he starts his new job on Monday.

Marianne hums and he notices she’s put on lipstick. He can’t help but wonder if the effort was made for his sake. He’s seen Marianne at her barest and she’s seen him at his though it’s been a long time. Four years to be precise, and quite honestly four years too long.

How are things at the school? He asks her. 

For over two years now Marianne has been a History teacher at a posh all-girls private school, a job that she seems to enjoy despite having to bite her tongue more often than not due to the conservative parents and nuns, though she is every bit the sensation among her students.

Grand, I think. Nothing’s changed since we last phoned. Oh, we’re actually rehearsing a play, Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra. It’s been fun.

Who plays Antony if it’s all girls?

Gemma Callaghan, she’s got a thicker voice. Marianne says this with a laugh.

How much convincing did it take for the nuns to ‘yes’ on the play?

Oh, a lot. The girls took a vote and there was this whole thing at debate class. The nuns were pushing on Midsummer Night’s or A Winter’s Tale. Supposedly tamer and obviously no suicide.

Yeah, I was gonna ask about the snake. Marianne shoved his arm a bit.

I’ve missed you. She says and he nods. It’s strange to actually be in your presence again.

They’ve never stopped writing and talking in all these years, Connell would feel empty if they did. Marianne is his best friend, the most important person in his life. Whether that is a good and healthy thing or not he isn’t aware, or at the very least doesn’t care to be aware. And it isn’t just him who calls her and writes those long emails, she does too.

Hannah, a girl he dated for a while in New York once referred to Marianne as his ‘Dear diary’, with a whole lot of bitterness dripping off her tongue.

How’s Seamus? He says.

Oh, we’re not a thing anymore. He was beginning to talk about marriage and I just… Connell watches Marianne faux-shiver just from the thought of it. She presses her lips together to avoid saying something she considers improper.

When far away they’re so easily open with one another. It throws him off how it’s all so different in person. He can feel sweat building up on his hands from the sheer nerves.

I'm halfway through your manuscript, she says, the minute they stop on a red light. It's brilliant, Connell.

Yeah? 

She nods with a smile, playing with the stylish silver ring on her finger. Am I Clara?

He pauses for a long moment, considering her question. The light goes green and he continues on the path to her family's flat that he still knows by heart.

Do you feel like Clara?

Marianne shrugs as she watches the raindrops trail down the glass of the car window.

I suppose I felt like a Clara once, sometimes still do. I’m very much myself right now, though.

Are you?

Yeah, she says before changing the subject. So, how do you feel about being a visiting professor for a whole year? That’s like huge. 

The corner of her lips curve slightly upwards as she sees that typical pink hue color his cheeks.

I don’t know, Marianne, would it count as much as to satisfy your student-professor kink?

She laughs at that. Sometimes when Marianne has a bit too much to drink she writes to him about her sexual fantasies or about her dalliances and Connell reads it all eagerly, his ears burning red even when in total privacy.

They are like that, the two of them. They know each other so deeply that there is no shame or limit to the things they write about. Perhaps Hannah from New York had been correct after all. In a way they are indeed each other’s diaries.

He pulls up in front of the brick rowhouse of his memories. The one she inhabited in their Trinity days, where they spent many glorious hours together… And then some quite painful minutes too.

Her mother had kicked her out the last year of university, among other things pissed off because her daughter was with the cleaner’s son and because said cleaner’s son, Connell, had seen firsthand the twisted brand of abuse Alan Sheridan brandished his sister with. And Alan was his Mam’s dearest, no question there, up until he wasn’t anymore.

Marianne moved back into the flat just a year ago and only because despite her better judgment she had nursed her mother back to health after Alan nearly beat her to death. Denise Sheridan sold the Carricklea mansion, her pride over what happened getting the best of her. It was a hotel and spa now from what Lorraine had told him.

Marianne never visited Carricklea anymore unless it was to spend Christmas with Lorraine in Connell’s absence. Apparently no one could do without her seafood risotto and brilliance at charades. None of the Waldrons ever mentioned that Marianne was like that stray ugly kitten caught in the storm and then brought in for shelter out of sympathy. Marianne was the ugly kitten who stayed and stayed, growing on all of them until one day the rain passed and none of them had the heart to send her away again. Ugly or not the cat had become family, and the rest was history.

…

  
  


Connell’s suitcase and backpack lay abandoned in the hallway while Marianne busies herself by preparing a pot of tea. He is out like a light in the spare room, though it’s just after 2 pm and late morning in New York time. Turns out he didn’t sleep a wink the night previous due to a big farewell party his mates threw him before his flight.

Joanna plays with the crochet doily set on the kitchen table. Marianne took up needlework as a hobby during her last year of university and ever since she returned to Ireland her creations were spread across almost every surface of the house.

So, Connell arrived, you ended things with Seamus… The timing seems quite deliberate.

Does it? Marianne retorts.

Joanna eyes her in that knowing way of hers. Will he be living here with you?

Just until he finds a place… 

Hmm. As your roommate or your bedmate?

Marianne shifts for a moment, realizing that she's been avoiding that very question since the announcement of his return appeared on her inbox a couple of weeks ago.

When Connell decided to leave for New York they both agreed not to make silly promises such as to wait for one another or try the long-distance thing. In the four years that had passed he’d had his share of women and Marianne had had her share of men as well, some in Spain where she did her Master’s degree, some in England, and one or two more recently in Dublin.

The truth was that no matter where they were or who they were with they could never fully part, always orbiting around one another. Many times Marianne finds herself mentally wishing for whichever romantic partner to leave already so she can finally open her laptop to see if an email from Connell has arrived or so they can call one another and talk for hours over beer and wine.

They haven’t yet talked about the possibility of actually getting back together in the romantic relationship sense. For some odd and infuriating reason those lines are always blurry when it comes to them, as though their connection, this pull between them is simply impossible to name.

I don’t know, Marianne says, averting her gaze from Joanna’s.

But which option would you prefer?

Marianne sighs, pulling two mugs out of the press and setting them down on the table a bit too forcefully.

Joanna’s eyes sparkle in delight, a grin appearing on her face.

Don’t be smug about it! Marianne huffs, a rare blush creeping onto her cheeks.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Old house, old love

Connell walks in on Marianne and Joanna sipping tea in the kitchen while biscuits are baking in the oven. Joanna hasn’t changed a bit since he saw her last, during the week she spent in his studio in New York with her girlfriend Evelyn during their last vacation. Connell accompanied them to museums and took them to the best pubs, he taught them how to make sense of all the different subway lines seeing as he lived in Brooklyn and on one occasion while Evelyn went out with an old school friend they stayed in drinking beer and playing cards. They had talked about many things but eventually the subject shifted to Marianne and the fact that she was officially making the move from sunny Malaga back to Dublin.

Hello Connell! Joanna greets with a smile. How was your trip?

Fine, I suppose… What have you been up to?

Working on my doctorate’s thesis on Irish immigration, that visit of ours to Ellis Island was eye-opening, got me thinking of the cultural aspects, Joanna says.

Grand, it was great fun when you visited.

Connell, would you like some tea? Marianne asks, feeling a bit uncomfortable over the fact that Joanna and Evelyn so easily stayed with Connell and she herself never once went up for a visit.

It’s all right, I can put the kettle on myself.

Marianne sits back down on her chair, listening in to all the anecdotes and stories Joanna was relaying for the hundredth time, while her eyes followed Connell’s every movement around her kitchen. While the water heated in the electric kettle he checked the biscuits in the oven, the sweet smell spreading all through the house.

The truth was that she was meant to go on that trip to New York with Joanna, instead of Evelyn. Marianne had worked a lot to save spending money and purchase the tickets but it coincided with her mother being hospitalized and then she couldn’t.

What are you both doing tomorrow? Joanna asked Marianne, referring to her friend, the old lady she swam with.

Oh, I have Edith’s birthday dinner tomorrow night, she’s turning eighty. It’s this big thing. I promised to cook Moroccan couscous. You’re both welcome to come if you like...

Edith is the elderly physics professor Marianne swam with so many years ago and had befriended in Connell’s absence. The two of them had become almost as thick as thieves and it was fascinating to him how two completely different people, not just in age, could become so close.

Hmm, I think I’ll pass. Joanna says. Last time we had dinner at Edith’s I passed out in the bathtub. Who knew old ladies could be so wild!

Marianne chuckles, remembering the whole sad scene. She’d had quite a lot of absinthe to drink and had been in no better shape, having fallen asleep on the sofa in the lounge.

Will you come with me, Connell?

Connell serves them all their tea and takes out the biscuits, finally.

Yeah, I’ll go. Can’t have you passing out in the tub like this one.

...

  
  


Later that night they are lounging together on her sofa, Joanna long gone. Connell is deep into a Bioy Casares novel and Marianne is marking student papers on women in the French revolution with a purple ball point pen. Her cold feet are tucked under his thigh for warmth, his legs stretched out on top of the ottoman.

She shifts slightly to fix the cushion behind her head prompting him to look at her for a long moment. Marianne has changed a lot since he left, starting by her weight. She has filled out nicely, healthily, no longer looking like a gust of wind might knock her over. Connell still thinks her big brown eyes are just like a deer’s. He recalls an email he sent when she was in Sweden, comparing her appearance to a deer he saw at the park one night. Marianne’s eyes are honest and when she looks at him he feels both at peace and on edge all at once. To be with Marianne Sheridan is to be totally vulnerable to her. Here and now there are no walls and there is no shame.

He used to get the feeling that anything he told her to do she would, that he had that power over her, to make her submit.  _ This  _ Marianne is different and Connell thinks it’s a brilliant thing. She no longer submits, she no longer does things without putting up a fight or without saying exactly what and how she wants them. She no longer sees herself as this cold, unlovable person. Marianne grew into herself beautifully, admirably, and Connell thinks he’s never seen her so content.

Marianne has friends now, the good sort, friends who are actually nice people. There’s a fellow teacher or two, the bookshop manager a few blocks down, the retired physics professor who used to swim with her almost every morning, and of course there’s him and Joanna. 

Marianne grows and nurtures her plants, she goes out dancing, goes to the theatre, she learned to play the guitar in Spain, and on late Saturday mornings she bakes brownies and eats them to her heart’s content.

Connell considers the question she made back in the car on the way here from the airport. Marianne asked him if she was Clara, the main character in the novel he was in the process of publishing. In a way Clara  _ is _ Marianne, simply because Marianne is his muse and his greatest inspiration. Even since before they shared that first kiss at her house in Sligo.

Connell runs the back of his fingers gently along her bare calf, up and down, his heart beating wildly, anticipating her reaction. He watches from the corner of his eyes as goosebumps erupt on her skin and her breath hitches.

You about finished there, Ms. Sheridan? He asks.

Connell’s book is left abandoned on the other side of the sofa as he begins to trail his fingers up and down her calf again, before grazing up her thigh.

She looks at him, holding in a laugh.

Nearly done. Gabby Shannon is always a challenge. Marianne says this rolling her eyes. The girl lives in this parallel world where for some reason I’m incapable of noticing she copied this straight out of wikipedia… Poor thing.

Connell cringes and laughs. The woes of being a teacher? He asks.

Being a teacher isn’t bad, it’s the salary that is.

Marianne hastily scribbles a few things on her student’s report before sticking it on top of the pile on the floor.

You know that guest room? She asks him.

Hmm.

Terrible draft… Old houses, you know.

I see what you mean. I did feel a bit chilly during my nap… Do you think I’ll risk catching a cold? He crinkles his nose at this and she laughs. Marianne sits up and caresses his cheek.

Don’t fret Connell, I’ll keep you nice and warm.

They kiss then, softly at first, savoring this moment. It’s secretly what they’ve both wanted for a long time, to close that ocean-wide gap between them finally.

His hand wanders under her shirt and she arches into his touch.

Can we take our clothes off now? He says. 

There’s a flash of recognition in her eyes and she smiles.

Suddenly it’s like they’re eighteen again, both laughing while stumbling to remove her bra. Marianne is nervous, of course, and so is he, but there’s also a happy energy around them and she can’t think of anything she’d want more than to feel him inside of her and then to lay in his arms in the aftermath, talking about anything and everything.

Later, they are both lying in bed, bathed and in their pajamas, his fingers are playing with her damp hair and she’s dozing off. It’s past midnight which also translates to past her bedtime considering she needs to be at the school by 8 am for a staff meeting. Connell’s also due to visit a few flats but he thinks he’ll have to reschedule them because Marianne insisted she wants to go with him. He doesn’t know how that’ll work logistically due to Edith’s party and her having to cook a dish but then again Marianne has surprised him many times before.

He turns off the bedside lamp and makes himself comfortable. She moves a bit so that he’s not too much by the edge.

Connell? She whispers.

Not asleep, are you?

I was but then I remembered.

What?

I love you. 

He kisses the top of her head.

I love you too, Marianne.


End file.
